


Pressure Point

by Jack (BaraFrance)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Or not, Pre-Slash, i dont know. useless fluff?, i guess, i mean i guess you can see it however you want, if you turn ur head, maybe one day ill write a part two, these tags feel redundant, use ur imagination and shit, useless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaraFrance/pseuds/Jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He straightened his back as the Announcer declared their victory, satisfied that he'd gotten one last kill in on the snake before the round's end. Rolling his shoulders elicited a painful-sounding crack from several places in his spine, and he groaned, slouching forward again. His posture had a lot to do with the myriad of pains he dealt with, he knew, but somehow whenever he got up in a nest with his gun he ended up slouching forward without noticing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Point

**Author's Note:**

> based on slash inspired by? bisexual-legislature's [rad art](http://bisexual-legislature.tumblr.com/post/109253040079/this-is-so-gay-quite-possibly-the-gayest-thing) but then I took off sniper's shirt because I can't control myself, really. come on.
> 
> I also included some weird headcanons but if you don't know them you might not SEE the weird headcanons. ok thats all i have to say
> 
> cross posted on tumblr blah blah blah same as always

The Sniper grinned as he pulled the trigger of his rifle, watching the enemy Spy's head disappear in a satisfying cloud of blood and viscera. He straightened his back as the Announcer declared their victory, satisfied that he'd gotten one last kill in on the snake before the round's end. Rolling his shoulders elicited a painful-sounding crack from several places in his spine, and he groaned, slouching forward again. His posture had a lot to do with the myriad of pains he dealt with, he knew, but somehow whenever he got up in a nest with his gun he ended up slouching forward without noticing it. His back protested once more as he stood, rubbing a hand over his face and slinging the rifle over his shoulder for the walk back to base.

He wasn't the  _slowest_  man on the team, but he didn't really have anywhere to be once he got back to the base, so he took his time getting back and ended up the last one to stow his equipment in the locker room and head to the mess. It was Scout's turn to cook, and apparently this time no one had taken enough pity on him to help him out, so dinner was hastily thrown together sandwiches. Which was fine by him, honestly; he wasn't terribly hungry, and he'd certainly eaten worse. By the time he entered the room, the rest of the team had already gathered, and Scout was bringing his creations out to the table. Sniper found himself met with the usual loud revelry that came with a win, stories of kills and close calls from the battlefield. The marksman never really involved himself in the loud chatter, but he couldn't pretend he minded it, really. It was always better than the base after a bad loss.

The only open seats were next to Soldier or Heavy, and whoever sat next to Soldier usually had a hard time hearing out of one ear for a few hours after, so Sniper quietly slid into the seat next to their Heavy Weapons Guy. He was a pretty nice guy--Sniper couldn't say he  _disliked_  any of the guys on his team, though a lot of them did get on his nerves. Heavy didn't, though. He was a pretty introspective guy, for the most part. He was laughing boisterously when Sniper arrived, apparently telling a story to the Engineer about... something or another. Sniper didn't really notice. He was just glad to be sitting again, really, even if it was in the hard plastic chairs of the mess.

"Ah, there he is!" the Heavy boomed as Sniper melted into the chair. "Round was just about to end, and BLU Spy was  _this_  close to sending Heavy back to respawn one more time, when BOOM!" Sniper winced a bit at the large man's yell, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Little Spy's head is  _gone_!" Heavy laughs again, one absurdly large hand hitting his knee while the other swung back to clap the Sniper's shoulder, causing an audible crack.

Sniper groaned again, collapsing forward onto the table. He was tired. Almost tired enough to skip dinner. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders again, wincing and sighing, apparently unaware that half the team was looking at him.

"Did that noise come from your  _back_?" Scout squawked, trying to hide his laughter at Sniper's expense.

"How hard did you hit him, Big Guy?" the Engineer looked concerned, but not accusing towards Heavy, who shrugged.

"No harder than usual. Kind of like this," Heavy answered, swinging his other hand back to repeat the action on Scout's back. The runner tumbled forward a step or two, but shrugged at Engineer, nodding.

"I'm  _fine_ ," Sniper groused, flopping back into his chair again. "Just a little creaky, nothin’ to get everyone all stirred up over."

With enough assurances, the team went back to their loud conversations with one another, and no one protested when Sniper snuck out of dish duty.

He slunk out to his van, starting a pot of coffee brewing before collapsing on his bed with a groan. He allowed himself a few minutes to lay there before rolling off to look through his medicine cabinet for some aspirin, or Tylenol, or something. There was a bottle labelled ibuprofen in the back of his cabinet, and he swallowed all three of the remaining pills inside it dry.  Then he shucked off his vest, undid the top few buttons on his shirt, and sat down at his dining table to start on the coffee.

Two cups later, he decided that if the medicine was gonna kick in, it probably would have by now. Time to swallow his pride, he figured with another long-suffering sigh.

He hated going to visit the Medic. It was nothing against the man himself--no, quite the contrary, Sniper found himself holding a rather large amount of affection for a man he didn't speak with much. No, he was just used to taking care of problems on his own. Bush medicine. It always worked before, and when it didn't, he found solutions. They may not be  _healthy_  solutions--He lit a cigarette as he walked back to the base, smirking a bit at the irony--but they were solutions, and they worked well enough for him. Until the Medic found out what his solutions were, and scolded him, and made him stop doing whatever stupid thing he'd done this time. Sniper should be able to ignore the doctor like any other doctor, but for some reason Medic seemed more... convincing.

Whatever. He pushed open the infirmary doors and stuck his head in, looking around. "Doc?"

The Medic was at his desk in the back of the med-bay, scribbling away at some kind of paperwork. He looked up at the Sniper's entrance, and smiled as he walked in, a bit unsettlingly.

"Ah, Sniper! I was wondering how long it would take you to come in." He stood, walking quickly around his desk and meeting Sniper halfway through the room. "Are you here for--"

"My back, yeah." Sniper rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. Medic's gaze was piercing, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself when it was aimed directly at him. "I just need some painkillers, then I'll get out of your hair..."

"I don't think so, Sniper. I'm not that easy." He tutted, smile turning knowing and--affectionate, almost. "No, no. Sit down, let me look you over."

" _C'mon_ , Doc," Sniper complained, shoulders drooping. "You and I both know what's wrong, there's nothin' to look for..."

"I'm still not feeding your bad habit, no matter how much you complain. Come, sit."

"Doc... I got over that, you know--"

" _Sit_."

Medic's tone left no room for argument, and Sniper knew it. That voice could even quiet Soldier and Scout from their explosively stupid arguments. Sighing, he loped forward, flopping into the desk chair Medic was towering next to.

He could hear Medic walking around behind him, shuffling things around that he didn't bother turning to watch. There was a snap of latex and a rustle of fabric, then he stiffened in habitual panic at a light touch on the base of his neck.

" _Relax_ , Sniper," Medic hummed, his hands spreading lightly on his shoulders, under the loose collar of his shirt. "This wouldn't happen if you sat up straight, you know."

"You've mentioned that, Doc," Sniper answered with a roll of his eyes, relaxing a bit as Medic's fingers pressed into the muscles of his back. His hands were warm--Medic's, that is--warm, and big, and... soft. Sniper idly wondered if he'd ever seen the Doctor's hands without gloves on before.

"I'll stop mentioning it when you sit up straight," he chided, fingers digging lightly between the gaps of Sniper's spine. His nails were trimmed short, and with a slight tilt of his head Sniper could see a light dusting of hair on the back of his hands and up his arms. "You're full of knots."

"Yeah," he tried to shrug, but Medic's hands were massaging the muscles of his shoulders so exquisitely, he could barely move them. He swallowed back a little moan as the Doctor worked a knot out, the absurdly warm and absurdly soft hands on his neck working magic.

"Take off your shirt."

"--Huh?" Sniper blinked, realising that his eyes had drifted closed during the impromptu massage. He turned in the chair to look at the Doctor. "I didn't--"

"I'm not giving you drugs, Sniper, but I am your doctor and I do want to help you. So, we're using a more basic method. Take your shirt off." Medic smiled again, hands folded behind his back, but it was...  _different_  this time. Gentler. Softer.

Sniper looked down and started unbuttoning his shirt, hoping the warmth in his face wasn't visible and the sickening flutter in his stomach wasn't noticeable in his expression.

"Undershirt too, bitte."

He sighed as he complied, ignoring the wash of embarrassment. It was just Medic, he's seen the  _whole team_  near naked before, but... his chest was covered in thick hair and mismatched scars, and a few tattoos that Scout laughed at, so surely the rest of the team wanted to... Not to mention the love handles and paunch belly, which admittedly was also probably from his slouched posture, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing.

The tenseness in his shoulders melted away again when Medic went back to it, his hands sliding across flesh and skin and scar delicately enough to make him forget his worries. The office around them was cool and dry in contrast to the intoxicating warmth and softness of Medic's hands on him; his shoulders, his spine, his lumbar, everywhere at once, and he couldn't bite back the quiet moan of pleasure this time. He heard Medic's quiet chuckle behind him, but he couldn't be embarrassed with the undeniable calm that had filled him.

A little sigh brought to his nose the scent of the man standing so close behind him, surprisingly less medical than expected. He smelled faintly of the fumes from the Medigun, but even more so like fresh-baked bread and warm family dinners, and Sniper couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

It was at that moment that the Sniper realised his opinions of the Doctor may be a little less professional than previously thought.

"Does it feel better?" Medic asked, a little quieter than usual, a little closer to Sniper's ear, and that voice rumbled through him in a strange, unfamiliar way. It traveled down his spine and stopped his heart for a beat or two, and he wondered if Medic could hear how his breath caught, or feel the change in his pulse, but before he could think farther on the subject his breath came back and the warm feeling settled in his gut, at which point he realised he'd been asked a question and it had been considerably too long for him to have not answered it.

"Uh--Yeah, Doc, it does," he answered quickly, hoping his stumble went unnoticed. "You're good at this."

Medic chuckled and shrugged, hands moving up to rest on Sniper's shoulders again, still this time. "Thank you, I suppose. You may come back whenever you get the itch to try and weasel painkillers from me again." He took his hands away (Sniper withheld a disappointed sigh) and walked back around to stand by Sniper's side.

Sniper stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, thanks, Doc."

"Does your neck still hurt?"

"Huh? No, I--"

"Don't withhold from me, Sniper. I can't help you if I don't know."

The warmth on his face was definitely visible this time.

"Nah, Doc, honest, I feel  _fine_..." His hand had clenched down a little tighter on his neck, which didn't escape the doctor's notice.

Medic reached up and pulled his hand away, other hand reaching up to where it had been to rub gently. "I don't feel any more knots," he hummed, eyebrows drawn in concentration.

Sniper was suddenly  _very_  aware of the fact that his shirts were on the desk behind them, and that the warmth in his face was quickly travelling down his neck to his chest.

"You may be suffering from some sort of bone disorder if you're feeling pain without muscular distress. Does this happen oft--"

His lips were as soft as his hands, Sniper thought. Then he realised his own hands were holding Medic's biceps  _awful_  tight, and neither of them were really initiating a kiss so much as standing with their mouths shoved together...

He released, stepped back, hit the corner of Medic's desk and stumbled. His face was redder than his shirt, which he forgot to grab off of the desk before he turned on his heel and bolted out the door.


End file.
